


Could've been me

by Builder



Series: Spiderverse [19]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Peter Parker and the terrible horrible no good very bad day, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 22:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13491435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: When Peter takes a spill out on patrol, Karen initiates concussion protocol to make sure he's alright.  As it turns out, it takes a real person provide the necessary care.





	Could've been me

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from tumblr. Find me @builder051

Alright.  I think I see what you’re getting at here.  I kind of feel like all my concussion fics are identical???  I’m trying for a little originality here (maybe).

 

_____

 

The last thing Peter remembers is webbing himself across the street.  He evidently made it, since he’s in an alley and not the middle of the road.  But that’s about all that’s clear.  He feels like he just woke up from an inconveniently deep nap, rising groggy and unsure of the current decade.

 

He feels sick, too.  A wave of disgusting achiness flows down from his head when he tries to press himself up on his elbows. 

 

“…the fuck?” Peter mutters.  He’s lying down.  He hurts.  He assumes that means he hit the pavement.  But what was he doing before that?  Going toward something?  Or away from it?  Why is he even out and about?  He has no idea.

 

“Peter?” A voice asks in his ear.

 

He looks around frantically, which does nothing but snap his dizziness up to eleven.  Peter groans and collapses back to the ground. 

 

“Peter, would you like to send a distress signal?”

 

“A…what?”  Who the hell is talking?  This is…annoying.  He’s trying to sleep.  Isn’t he?  Though that doesn’t make a ton of sense.  It’s cold out.

 

“Recommend initiating concussion protocol.  Please confirm.  If you do not respond, protocol will begin and a distress signal will be sent in sixty seconds.”

 

“What’re you…talking about?”  Peter presses his hands to his face, which feels like it’s going to fall off.  Spandex glides across spandex as his gloves meet his mask, and something clicks into place, though he’s still not exactly sure what it is.  If he was webbing around, he must’ve been doing something.  Probably something important.

 

“You hit the ground hard, Peter.  Consciousness is a good sign, though your confusion is worrying.  A concussion is suspected.”

 

“Ohhhhh.”  Ok.  It’s starting to dawn on him.  Maybe.  But pain cuts through his concentration.  Peter struggles to sit up.  He’s suddenly hot and nauseated and he needs to find the horizon right now. 

 

It doesn’t work out so well since he’s blocked in by brick walls on three sides.  He gags before he can pull his mask off, and bile soaks the fabric over his nose and mouth. 

 

“Thirty seconds remaining.  Would you like to immediately initiate concussion protocol?  Vomiting is another concerning symptom.”

 

“Shut up, suit lady,” Peter chokes.  He barely gets his mask over his head before he throws up again.  It runs down his chest before he can figure out how to turn to the side without falling over. 

 

“Fifteen seconds.”

 

“Huh?”  There’s a countdown?  Peter hopes nothing’s going to explode.  He feels like he’s already lived through an explosion.  His head hurts so much.  He retches, and the aftershock tremors shake his vision and his center of balance.  It’s a good thing there’s a wall behind him.  Though leaning against it is kind of painful too.

 

“Initiating concussion protocol.  Distress signal sent to Avengers homebase.  Estimated time until rescue is fourteen minutes.”

 

“I don’t need…” Peter forgets what he’s saying before he gets all the words out.  A string of spit still dangles from his lower lip, and watching it sway kicks his vertigo back up. 

 

“How come I can hear you when I don’t have my mask on?”  Because understanding that is definitely a priority.

 

“My system is wired throughout your suit,” Karen says.  “I can explain further after you have answered the following questions. Responses will be logged and monitored.”

 

“Mm.”  Peter feels like he’s supposed to acknowledge he heard that.  Comprehension’s still a little iffy, though.

 

“What is your name?”

 

Peter blinks, wondering why this is relevant.  “You know my name…  You’ve said it like…a few times?”  At least, he thinks she has.

 

“The point of concussion protocol is to ensure you remember basic information.  What is your name?”

 

Oh.  He has a concussion?  Well, that would certainly explain why he doesn’t feel well.  His head fucking hurts. 

 

He was definitely supposed to answer a question.  But he can’t remember what it is.

 

“Peter?” Karen prompts.

 

“Can you, uh, repeat the question?” Peter slurs.

 

“What is your name?”

 

“I’m… Didn’t you just say it?”

 

“There appears to be a flaw in my coding.  An error report has been sent.”  There’s a beat of silence, and it feels like heaven to Peter’s sensitive ears.  Then the AI pipes up again.  “Would you like to advance to the next question?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“What year is it?”

 

Peter thinks, which hurts.  “Uh.  2017?”

 

“That’s incorrect.  It’s 2018.”

 

“Oh, come on.”  A rush of images from Christmas and New Year’s pile up in his mind’s eye, threatening to derail his train of thought.  “It’s freaking January.  No one knows what year it is…”

 

“Remembering the current month is encouraging,” Karen says.  “Proceeding to next question.”

 

“Can we not?  Please?”  Peter’s suddenly ridiculously warm even though it’s cold enough for him to see his breath. 

 

The AI says something else, but Peter doesn’t hear beyond the words  _patching you through.._.  He’s too busy fighting down the urge to vomit.  He swallows hard and tries to pick up the thread of the conversation. 

 

Is it a conversation when one party is and AI?

 

“What’s…?  You kinda lost me.”

 

The voice that answers definitely isn’t Karen.  “Kid?  What happened?  Where are you?”  Is he on the phone with someone?

 

That’s somebody he knows.  His mentor, his hero.  Why the fuck can’t Peter remember his name? 

 

“I know you have a head injury, but you have to speak up.  I can’t hear you over the wind.”

 

He’d been talking out loud?  Peter shakes his head.  Which makes him heave. 

 

“Are you puking?  Aw, great.  Just exactly what I want to deal with today.”

 

What is his name?  Something- tower.  Something- industries…  Something important.  He’s goddamn Ironman. 

 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaks.  There we go.

 

“Yeah.  I’m a few minutes out.  Are you, like, between buildings or something?  That is not making you easy to find.  I wish you hadn’t taken that tracker out of your suit…”

 

“Oh.”  He did that?  That sounds stupid. 

 

“What were you doing, anyway?”

 

“I…”  Peter wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.  “I have…no idea.”

 

“Right.  Real comforting.”  Is that sarcasm?  It has to be.  But then again, Peter’s not solid on the last thing he said, so he can’t be sure. 

 

“I don’t feel good.”  Best to say something he is sure of.

 

“Oh, I’ll bet.  I’m importing your data as we speak, and it looks like you went down hard.  Maybe it’s a good thing this happened when you were just putzing around, ‘cause we got a design flaw.  You need, like, airbags or something…”

 

Maybe Tony stops talking.  But it’s more likely Peter’s brain just stops processing.  His voice filters through as a quiet buzz until metal boots hit the ground and the sound jars him back to awareness.

 

“Ow,” Peter groans as he lifts his head to look up at the Ironman suit that’s just landed in front of him. 

 

Mr. Stark retracts his mask and squats at Peter’s shoulder, avoiding the puddle of sick.  He peers into Peter’s face.  “You’re a mess, kid.”

 

That part he’s got.  “Yeah… I know.”

 

“Alright.  Admitting there’s a problem.  That’s step one.”  Tony gives him a once-over.  “As soon as you think you can stand up without hurling everywhere, I’ll take you home.”

 

Home.  Falling into bed would be so welcome right now.  But it seems like a long way off.  Every spin of his head makes it seem like he’s moving backwards in both space and time.  “Give me a minute…” Peter mumbles.  “Or, like, 27…”

 

“Sure, kid,” Tony chuckles.  “Take all the time you need.  We’ll get you back to normal eventually.”


End file.
